


Take A Break

by OrangeVanilla



Series: Made of Stars [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Top Bucky Barnes, sex in a caravan, thick bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeVanilla/pseuds/OrangeVanilla
Summary: It’s nice and quiet. No Tony Stark, not many children. Just Steve and Bucky and their small vacation space. A little too much pink for Bucky’s taste, but Steve looks cute when he’s curled up on the floral couch the first evening, watching bad TV and eating whatever he wants.The bed is laughably small, especially for two super soldiers. But if they made a tent in World War Two work, they can deal with this.





	

Steve’s made a habit of trying to tuck himself in small spaces, regardless of his size. Bucky loves making fun of it, of how Steve looks like one of those adult cats trying to fit into their favourite space from when they were a kitten, too fluffy for it to be comfortable. 

Their apartment has a window seat, which Bucky got modified when Steve was out in Bali. Before, he would sit crammed against the window, right butt cheek half off the seat as he’d draw the pigeons that flocked around the fire escape. Bucky didn’t know you could get window seat extensions, but it’s the best thing Google has ever done for him..

Now Steve can sit comfortably, drawing whatever he pleases. Today, the subject of his pencil is Bucky, who’s just trying to nap comfortably. No such luck. He can feel Steve’s gaze, hear every gentle scratch of the pencil against expensive art paper. 

To this day, that art book is the most expensive gift Steve has ever accepted, at around three hundred dollars. And he _had_ to accept it, because Bucky’d had the front cover made specially, Steve’s name in Bucky’s handwriting. The sweetest ‘fuck you, take my gift’ there’s ever been.

“Can you quit drawing me?” Bucky murmurs into the cushion, appreciating Steve’s lack of surprise. They know each other’s weird habits like their own faces. Steve knows Bucky will lie still for long periods of time because he’s used to it. It’s an effort to actually move like a human. Bucky knows that Steve triple checks all the doors are closed before he comes to bed. He doesn’t like drafts. 

“I’m just drawing,” Steve replies, voice velvety smooth and with a hint of a smirk. Bucky opens an eye to witness the little curl of his lips. “I’m allowed. Gotta use this up, haven’t I? All this free time.”

They’re officially on vacation. Captain America’s on break from his duties, and no one really trusts the Winter Soldier to do anything other than receive kisses from his Steve. Three glorious weeks, and this is just day one. Tomorrow, Steve’s decided, they need to pack their bags and head over to Britain, because apparently people don’t give a shit about Captain America over there.

The Winter Soldier and Captain America are going to spend two weeks in a little caravan. It’s almost picturesque, excusing the fact they’re two huge super soldiers and a caravan is _not_ equipped to fit them both. And it’s clear that Steve’s doing this for Bucky’s birthday. Somewhere quiet in the middle of nowhere is Bucky’s wet dream. 

“So what, the pigeons aren’t interesting enough today?” Bucky quirks an eyebrow, opening both eyes. Goodbye, hopes of a nap. Sweet while they lasted. “Can’t you draw the bowl of fruit in the kitchen? Or that vase of flowers? Or a puppy?”

Steve rolls his eyes, continuing to draw defiantly. He’s using the expensive art pad to spite Bucky now. This is what he gets for being a nice person, huh. “You’re much more interesting than almost all of those things. And there isn’t a puppy anywhere to be drawn,” he smiles, continuing to sketch carefully, always so precise.

In all fairness, he’s right. It’s a dreary day, rain has been pouring for the past three hours. There aren’t any pigeons to be drawn, even if they were as interesting as Bucky. Maybe today would be the day a rainbow pigeon lands on the fire escape.

“I’m gonna get you a puppy. Just so you have something fun to draw,” Bucky decides, staying nice and still so Steve can’t complain about him ruining his artistic vision. Maybe that’s why he’s such a desirable muse. Interesting and still. “We can name him something obnoxious. Freedom. Liberty. Justice.”

Steve hushes him, squinting for a moment before continuing with his careful sketching. “We aren’t naming our future puppy anything you come up with. It’ll probably have some awful hidden meaning,” he says knowingly, because that’s definitely a Bucky thing to do. Bucky smirks a little.

“What about a nice respectable name? Or something regular for dogs, like... Fluffy, or Spot, or Twinkle?” he suggests, closing his eyes again and relaxing to the sound of the rain, the scratch scratch scratch of Steve’s pencil.

“Piss off, I know you’ll wanna call it Boris or something,” Steve laughs softly, shifting to sit cross legged as he continues with every fine detail. Steve’s too much of a perfectionist for his own good, and for Bucky’s. 

“I was thinking more Bogdan, but-”

Steve snorts out a laugh, throwing an eraser at Bucky’s face. Bucky catches it, naturally, with both eyes closed, his metal arm better than Steve’s aim. “Bogdan. I should start calling _you_ Bogdan,” he snipes, appreciating that Bucky returns to his previous position seamlessly. 

“I want cats more than a puppy. Those Maine Coon cats, the huge fluffy ones. I can relate to them. I feel one with the pissy cats,” Bucky says casually, like he hasn’t spent hours looking at pictures and videos of cats on the Instagram Steve doesn’t know about, where he follows around eighty animal accounts. Smoothie and Milkshake are his favourites, two British Longhairs. He’s weak for the fluffy ones.

“Plural? You gonna give ‘em all Russian names, too? Have a whole herd of angry Russian cats, to match my angry James Barnes?” Steve teases, yawning softly as the consistent spatter of rain against the window starts getting to him. 

The answer is definitely yes. “Maybe,” Bucky murmurs, getting hopeful when the scratching of Steve’s pencil pauses for a moment, before returning, softer. He’s getting tired. _Yes_.

“But I know better than that. You’re just a big cuddly sweetheart beneath that huffy outer shell,” Steve says gently, stifling another yawn. They get like this on free days, all soft and lazy and cosy. And right now, Steve definitely wants to get some Bucky cuddles. “Have you packed?”

Bucky huffs, crinkling his nose just to move, just to remind Steve that he can still function. His stillness has been known to make some of the Avengers a little uneasy around him. Good. The less Bucky sees of Tony Stark, the better. But he’s getting into the habit of moving for Clint and Bruce and Sam. “Of course I’ve packed. You’d have me hanged if I left it too late.”

Light blue eyes open when Bucky hears the soft _pat_ of the art pad and pencil being set down on the window seat. Steve’s done already, slipping away from his little nook and making his way to settle beside Bucky on their couch, tucking close.

They had to get it custom made to fit them both like this. Too often, one of them would end up on the floor after they fell asleep, usually Bucky. It’s much wider now, a deep red to provide a change to a mainly neutral living room. 

“I would be fine if you left packing until now. But I’m glad you packed,” Steve says quietly against Bucky’s shoulder, a gentle smile on his lips. Bucky rolls over, pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips and closing his eyes, an acknowledgement of his lie. Steve would stress like hell if he wasn’t already prepared. “Are you excited?”

“We could be spending two weeks in a ditch, Steve. I’m excited because I get to spend time with you, all to myself. And yes, thinking about us being crammed together in a tiny vehicle is giving me some weird boners, but I am most definitely looking forward to our vacation,” Bucky grins, enduring a smack to the hip at his honesty. 

The little caravan is sweet, to say the least. They’re off in a corner of Wales, of all places, surrounded by rained out fields of sheep and cows and not much else. Their home for the next couple of weeks is cosy (Steve’s words, not Bucky’s), a large window in the living room allowing Steve to sit at the window seat and draw the not too distant beach, or the camp owner’s dog Patch, who really takes a shine to a begrudging Bucky.

It’s nice and quiet. No Tony Stark, not many children. Just Steve and Bucky and their small vacation space. A little too much pink for Bucky’s taste, but Steve looks cute when he’s curled up on the floral couch the first evening, watching bad TV and eating whatever he wants, usually chocolate or bread. God, his Stevie can eat bread for days. 

The bed is the main problem, and even then it’s hilarious. “Oh, Jesus above, Steve, we _can’t_!” Bucky cries when he squeezes his way into the bedroom and his eyes lock onto the abomination that is their bed. It looks like a single bed, since he’s used to a king at their apartment. 

He can hear Steve laughing from the living room, a mouth full of bread not able to muffle the noise of his damn obnoxious love. Of course, Steve had insisted on packing their things into the room, leaving Bucky to pat the dog with his flesh hand, still not comfortable with the metal hand with animals.

The TV clicks off, and Bucky can hear every step Steve makes as he slips into the bedroom. And oh god is it cramped. The two of them can barely stand in the bedroom together, something that Steve seems to find hilarious. 

“We can sleep on top of each other,” he suggests, sitting on the bed and gazing up at Bucky with his huge blue begging eyes, something Bucky’s never been able to shake. Sometimes he thinks he only broke HYDRA’s control thanks to those eyes, that look that tugs at his heart strings and his dick at the same time.

Steve lies back, his shirt riding up a little to display his creamy skin. “Come join me?” he asks so sweetly, biting his bottom lip like a little tease.

They both strip in record time, Bucky only hitting his arm twice on the handle of the closet, hissing at each sharp pain but never once slowing down. He gets on the bed and actually groans quietly at how comfortable it is, secretly loving how close he is to Steve.

“You’re the worst,” he lies, climbing on top of Steve and biting his throat to show how displeased he is about being so achingly close to his angelic boy, about how he’s going to have Steve wrapped around him like an octopus every night. Steve moans softly, tangling his legs with Bucky’s and gazing up at him adoringly. “Don’t gimme that look, baby, none of those ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

“These’re just my eyes, Buck,” Steve laughs softly, watching as Bucky grabs the little bottle of lube from the tiny nightstand, coating the metal fingers. Sure, Bucky would never touch an animal with the metal hand, but he’s had plenty of experience with Steve’s asshole. It’s like a second home. “Jeez,” Steve whispers, long lashes fluttering.

Bucky smirks as he sits back on his knees, sliding two cool, slicked fingers between Steve’s cheeks and pressing the tip of one inside him, watching the look of nervous anticipation melt away from Steve’s face. “There we go, baby,” he soothes, easing his index finger inside slowly and curling ever so slightly, stretching him, making him twitch and gasp.

Steve starts getting needy at two fingers, gets petulant at three. “I need it, Buck, I’m stretched enough,” he scowls, and it’s a fair argument. It’s taken twenty minutes for Bucky to be satisfied with his work, confident that Steve can in fact now take a dick without being killed.

“Alright, princess, don’t break a nail over it,” Bucky scoffs, understandably receiving a smack to his arm in response, sliding his fingers out slowly and stroking his own length. Steve is giving him those eyes, those eternal bedroom eyes that make Bucky feel all smitten. He grunts, smiling softly when Steve takes the hint and hooks his legs over Bucky’s shoulders.

“Happy now, handsome?” Steve smirks, groaning as Bucky pushes his hips down slowly, lining himself up against Steve’s hole. “Finally seeing why I chose this place for our vacation?”

“You sly little fuck,” Bucky scolds, pushing slowly inside Steve and watching his eyes roll back, his breathing shallow. He thrusts his hips gently, short, sharp bursts to ease himself inside fully. “Think you can trick me into a tiny bed and not get fucked through it?”

Steve digs his fingernails into Bucky’s back, always too sensitive to be able to last long. It’s a blessing their refractory periods are practically nonexistent, or their nights would be like twenty second firework displays. “Yeah, Buck, do it. Fuck me ‘til we go through the bed,” he huffs softly, gasping as Bucky thrusts harshly, firm hands gripping at his hips. 

Bucky chuckles softly, starting to hammer into Steve harshly, grunting quietly with every steady push of his hips. “Not paying for a new bed, you’re just gonna have to deal with regular rough sex,” he breaks the bad news, smirking as he flattens himself against Steve, hips snapping inside him. 

The mattress really isn’t a fan of their sex, and with good reason. They’re both huge men, one with a cybernetic prosthetic arm. The tiny caravan in the rainiest corner of Wales probably didn’t expect this, and the mattress definitely didn’t. 

The squeaking is comfortably masked, though, with the soft “uh, uh, uh,” falling from Steve’s lips every time his prostate gets nudged over. Bucky can tell he’s already too close, his grip too tight at Bucky’s back, eyes squeezed shut and bottom lip bitten.

“You can cum, you know, if you-” Bucky starts, interrupted by a yelp as Steve cums hard and fast without his dick being touched, back arching up as he pants. His legs are tight against his chest, Bucky takes a moment to rub at his left thigh just to give him a little affection. “Want me to-”

“Keep going,” Steve commands, panting and arching his hips down, gasping and shuddering as the movement stimulates his prostate. Bucky does as he’s told, something he’s getting used to when having sex with Steve. Whatever he wants, Bucky gives him. “Fuck, Bucky, yeah,”

Bucky’s too close for his own liking, panting against Steve’s shoulder as his hips snap harshly inside America’s favourite broad shouldered superhero, always just a _little_ smug about having this view all to himself.

Bucky keeps obediently thrusting until it gets a little less about doing as he’s told and a little more about what he wants, which is something Steve talks about when he’s too sleepy to filter himself. He likes it when Bucky does things just because he _wants_ to, which is sweet. 

So he takes a couple of pauses, just to kiss all over Steve’s neck, leaving love bites over that huge chest, until it looks like a lame octopus has tried kidnapping him. Steve complains, but he clearly loves it, always shuts up when Bucky offers to quit it, gets that full body blush. 

“Love this chest, huh? Don’t I?” he groans, mouthful of Steve’s toned to perfection pectoral and sucking slowly, his hips rolling inside Steve like he’s got all the time in the world. Taking his perfect sweetheart apart with every nudge, that chest heaving ever so slightly.

“Jeez, Buck, I can’t... I’m close again,” Steve whispers, a hand fisting in Bucky’s hair and keeping his cheek against Steve’s warm skin, so close he can hear Steve’s fluttering heartbeat. He’s _really_ blushing, like a nun in a sex shop. Bucky smirks a little, earning a whimpered moan from Steve. “Bucky, I can’t-” 

Bucky interrupts with a moan, pushing his hips forward as he allows himself to come, wrapping his flesh hand around Steve’s dick and pumping him until he finishes for a second time, that sly little grin on his face the whole time. Steve shoots him The Look, and he can’t help but laugh at the bitch face Steve’s been working on for years. 

“You saved that, didn’t you?” Steve snips, eyes narrowed dangerously as he grips Bucky’s hip with his free hand, keeping him in place. Kind of. Bucky could definitely move if he wanted to, but the grip in his hair is a little more threatening. “You held an orgasm just to piss me off.”

“Not to piss you off, specifically. But I held it, yeah. Wanted to get more pretty noises outta my angel,” Bucky grins, pulling out slowly and abiding by the law of Steve’s grip. No sudden movements, no inappropriate wiggling. Just very careful manners. “Can you let me go? I’m getting cramp.”

“Oh, left arm cramps, I’m guessing,” Steve rolls his eyes, freeing Bucky regardless. He rolls over like a dog expecting a belly rub, almost falling off the tiny bed in the process. “I take you on a vacation, I take you completely away from Tony Stark for two weeks, and you repay me with-”

“Two orgasms, I know. How dare I?” Bucky teases, yawning and rolling over, a silent demand to be spooned. Steve begrudgingly complies, even if he knows he needs to shower before the stickiness starts to cling. “Cause it’s not like there’s anything coming up for _me_ anytime soon, right?”

Steve huffs directly in Bucky’s ear, making him grunt in complaint. “You’re the worst. I was gonna surprise you with stuff,” he grumbles, like coming to the loneliest corner of Wales wasn’t enough of a hint that he had birthday stuff planned. “Need to shower.”

“Can’t join you, we’d die if we both tried to fit in there. I can shower in the morning,” Bucky smiles contentedly, not moving an inch when Steve sits up and stands carefully. He’s content with his own grossness. Steve’s just a fussy little shit, preens like a little dove when he wants to. 

Bucky’s left alone in their tiny bedroom while Steve goes to shower, effectively directly opposite him. The patter of the rain is soon joined by the spray of the shower, relaxing enough to tempt him to doze until his blonde beauty returns. As far as surprises go, this is by no means a bad one. This is up there with the time Steve took him to a rabbit sanctuary, though he’ll never admit it. He’ll never tell anyone about how close he was to adopting the sweet little bunny that took a shine to his metal arm. 

Steve is the best at surprises. Of his top ten surprises, nine are thanks to Steve. The only one that isn’t was the time Sam offered to house him through a week of Steve being in meetings abroad. It was _intensely_ needed. Bucky without company isn’t good. 

“Thinking about my ass?”

Steve’s voice interrupts Bucky’s thoughts, the smell of strawberry shower gel greeting him just moments after when a mass of muscle settles beside him, cosying up comfortably. “Naturally,” Bucky chuckles softly, yawning and tangling his limbs with Steve’s, effectively trapping him. “Your ass is a sight to behold. Love it in that spandex you prance around in.”

Steve scoffs, grabbing his phone from his discarded pair of jeans and checking the time. Ten minutes past midnight. Officially time for him to fuss for a whole day. “Well, would you look at that?” Steve smirks, that pleased look he gets when he knows he can get what he wants. Bucky grunts softly.

“It’s another day. Amazing. Well, I’m tired, I’m gonna-” Bucky’s interrupted by Steve’s lips on his, soft and innocent and gentle. Even if they’ve just had sex, Steve always manages to kiss like he’s all purity and innocence. He’s clearly being as gentle as possible, just for Bucky. “You little sap,” he grins, tracing little circles along Steve’s hips.

“Happy birthday, Bucky. One hundred’s a big deal. Maybe I should’ve bought you a new hip,” Steve teases, kissing idly at Bucky’s throat, right where he’s ticklish. “I can get you one hundred candles. Hundred tugs to the hair, tradition.”

“You _touch_ my hair and my arm’s going up your ass,” Bucky warns, tucking himself close to Steve to minimise the risk of falling out of bed. “I’m fine with just eating birthday cake until that washboard stomach of yours gets like a fuckin’ balloon.”

Steve shoots him a look, moving to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist. He knows he’s filled out plenty since his HYDRA days, definitely a conscious decision. The less he looks like a killing machine, the better. And it gives him the excuse to eat fast food ‘til he needs to take naps. It’s a good life. 

“I love you,” Steve whispers softly, moving to click the little bedside light off so there can’t be any complaints later. Bucky smiles, wiggling his hips back a little. 

“Love you too, Stevie."

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy, after months of writer's block, i offer you all this  
> it's been good getting back into writing, and i hope to get back into the swing of things again soon! life is a little rough at the moment, but i'm powering through it!  
> as always, my tumblr is [buckys--plums](buckys--plums.tumblr.com), feel free to drop an ask there or a comment here! thank you for reading <3


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